


have yourself a merry little christmas

by thatgirlwho



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas fic, Fluff, Gen, M/M, The only time I will write this much fluff in one sitting, a LOT of Eggsy familial feels, actually this is mostly about Eggsy's family, sad in the way that Eggsy mopes around for a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 16:58:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8900431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgirlwho/pseuds/thatgirlwho
Summary: Eggsy's just about ready to give up on holidays and normalcy all together, call it quits, and resign himself to living with his devastatingly handsome and kind of aggravating boyfriend in their posh house, never able to enjoy a proper holiday because, for all the bonuses that came with being a covert spy, sometimes it downright fucking blows.





	

**Author's Note:**

> *gestures in general direction of fic* eehhhhhhhhhh.
> 
> For anon, who requested: "how about this? harry's on an important mission on christmas eve and eggsy's sad they won't get to spend their first christmas as a couple together - but then there's a knock on the door :D"
> 
> And I just fucking went for it, apparently.
> 
> Special thanks to another anon and a few wonderful mutuals for Eggsy's gift idea. Someone also suggested "dick in a box". Maybe next time.
> 
> I'm going to dedicate this to my wonderful followers and mutuals, who have given me such a fantastic ride this year in the Kingsman fandom. Here's to 2017, the sequel, and so many more tears and screams to be shared!
> 
> As usual, self-beta'd and not Brit-picked.

“Merlin’s a fucking prick,” Eggsy grumbles petulantly as he marches into Harry's office and throws himself onto the leather couch along the wall, not so undramatically. Not that he intended it really, he felt he wasn't the melodramatic kind of bloke, but one couldn't be blamed for these short-lived lapses in judgement, what when all your carefully laid plans went spectacularly tits up. 

Harry clicks his tongue disapprovingly but there is a distinct look of exasperated adoration, like he has seen this all before (he has) and knows it will pass swiftly (it will), as he watches Eggsy flop uselessly on the couch. 

“ _Arthur_ is my oldest friend,” Harry contends as he moves towards the built in closets along the back wall, opening the farthest door to pull down a canvas duffel bag. “And your boss.”

“Still a prick,” Eggsy reiterates. He scrambles to sit up, turning to watch Harry open his stashed overnight bag, checking its contents. “It's unfair, Harry. Ain’t it mandatory to get Christmas off?”

Harry glances up with an amused, wry look on his face. “Evil does not take holidays, Eggsy.”

Of course he had a point but it didn't help Eggsy at that moment, so he decided to just reject that notion all together, no matter how sensible, and continue on with pitying his truly shit circumstances and bollocks luck as of late. 

“Yeah, well,” Eggsy attempts dumbly with no real trajectory for his thought. He knows how stupid and childish it sounds, even as he says it. “They should.” He fidgets in the chair, pushing his thumb against the gold pins tucked into the tufts of the armchair. “I just thought--after the year we've had, we could have one thing. Just _one_ nice thing.”

At this Harry pauses, hands hovering in their work of zipping up the bag. His shoulders have slumped forward; it's not an odd sight on him, Eggsy has come to know, just entirely rare. Eggsy sighs dejectedly, regretting opening his mouth, but bloody hell, he’s _sure_ he has a right to be upset. He had been looking forward to spending the holidays with Harry all month and--well, it was just their luck. Or curse. Whatever it was, Eggsy wanted to know who he had to talk with to reverse it. He was ready for blood sacrifices at this point. 

“We will celebrate when I get back, I promise.”

“It ain't the same.” Eggsy knew he was sulking. He knew it was childish. The knowledge of it didn't stop him from all but pouting on the couch. He brightens suddenly, struck with a brilliant thought, sitting up to look at Harry hopefully. “I could come with.”

“Eggsy, no. Stay home and celebrate with your mother. She would be terribly upset if you were gone as well.”

Eggsy presses his mouth into a hard line.

With a sigh and gentle smile, Harry comes to sit beside him, taking up Eggsy’s hand that was making good work of picking away at the delicate craftsmanship of the couch, and threaded their fingers together. Eggsy lets out a long breath, some of the irritation easing just at the simple gesture. 

“I know you were looking forward to it, darling,” Harry says and he does sound sorry about it. At least there’s that. “But needs must.”

Eggsy rubs at his face, settles with digging his finger and thumb into the corners of his eyes. He asks, already knowing the answer, “There ain't anyone else?”

“Well, everyone has family--”

“Yeah, and you got _me_ ,” Eggsy snaps. Harry looks decidedly unimpressed but Eggsy _also_ decides he can't be arsed to care about being _gentlemanly_. “When were the last time you celebrated a real Christmas?”

Harry reaches out, hand coming to rest on the side of Eggsy’s face, his eyes gone soft and sincere, gaze flickering. “I'm truly sorry.”

Eggsy takes Harry's hand off his face, uses it to pull the older man closer until their knees knock together, and Eggsy can wrap his arms around Harry’s middle, shifting into his lap with his face buried in the crook of his neck. Harry's hands settle across Eggsy’s shoulders, one hand coming to run through his hair, an idle touch that always made Eggsy feel loose all over, so comfortable in his own skin, so inviting he feels he could crawl inside it and never need to leave. 

He feels so inexplicably sad, a churn in his gut and heaviness in his chest. It's not like Harry will be gone long. But it's different this time and it reminds Eggsy in such startling clarity who they _are_ and what they must sacrifice to be that. 

\--

Christmas was their last chance to lay claim on a holiday as theirs. It's not like they had many options to choose from. 

Valentine’s Day was absolutely and completely out of the question, wasn't ever up for debate. Just as good anyway, Eggsy wasn't ever one for heart-shaped boxes of chocolates or bouquets of roses and they could watch any selection of Harry’s ridiculous romcoms any night of the week (and they did, frequently, and Eggsy would not admit he actually enjoyed a fair few).

The anniversary (or what Eggsy declared their anniversary, for what that was worth) was saddled with some unpleasantry as well, considering Eggsy cocked it all up by having a moment of unbridled panic that had been in the making for weeks, choosing the most wildly inappropriate moment to burst within his already adrenaline-high addled brain, and asking Harry if it would be alright, you know, if I called you my boyfriend during a _fucking mission_. Because what better place to ask your mentor turned boss turned casual date if you could go _fucking steady_ in some backwoods village in Belarus while picking off goons coming full tilt at you with machine guns. 

Harry had given Eggsy the most debilitating and withering stare at the time but had told him _yes of course what was I before?_ when they got back to the plane, which made him feel rather victorious but also made him feel like dragging himself under a rock because fucking _hell_ , why couldn't he had just kept this bizarre romantic existential crisis on lock down for an extra thirty minutes? So maybe it all worked out in the end but if anyone ever brings it up, Harry relays the story with mischievous glee and Eggsy turns red with absolute mortification. So, no. No anniversary celebrations. 

Birthdays are tricky. Harry says, rather forcefully implying there is no room for discussion, that he does _not_ celebrate his birthday. Eggsy's a bit disappointed in that (what a tragically wasted opportunity of making cheeky remarks about being Harry's present) but he gets it. Harry is a bit of a contradictory mess when it comes to his age: he constantly flaunts the fact that he is well fit late into his years but downright refuses to talk about his actual age. Eggsy only knows the truth from badgering Merlin for weeks who, despite the increasing exasperation evident in his voice, does not reveal such sacred information and Eggsy just hacks into the Kingsman mainframe and looks up Harry’s profile. 

That earns _everyone_ a stern and vaguely menacing meeting regarding keeping _their dirty little fingers out of the internal network, for Christ’s sake._

Eggsy just doesn't celebrate birthdays. After his dad died, his mum kind of stopped with the whole thing, the parties and cake and balloons. It was okay, he got it now, how she hadn't been in the right place for it. He didn't hold it against her, even if she still apologized for it constantly. So he mostly grew up without that kind of thing and never was left wanting of it, so birthdays felt weird for him that he was entirely indifferent for his own sake. 

Christmas had held promise. The first real Christmas Eggsy was going to have in years: he even convinced his mum to do a whole feast, complete with a ham, roast potato and veg, sausage and herb stuffing and sticky toffee pudding for dessert, all the trimmings in between, though she looked very much like a woman regretting all her choices even as Eggsy planted a delighted kiss on her cheek. 

Eggsy even worked late at the office to make sure all the half-written reports were finished just so he could have a few extra days off and dropped the completed files on Merlin’s desk, saying he had gotten him the best Christmas gift a man could get. 

Harry had only rolled his eyes, trying to hide his amused grin by chewing on the end of his pen. 

\--

The streets of London glittered more brightly with a soft layer of snow, shop windows filled with ribbons and greenery, sidewalk lampposts adorned with wreaths and lights, the sound of Christmas music spilling from restaurants and stores, the telltale jingle of bells somewhere in the distance. Even Kingsman had given into the spirit, trussing it up in the regal tastes of Savile Row with Andrew and Dexter stringing a set of white lights along the bottom of the shop window, setting up a very tasteful tree by the fireplace made up in a demure mix of glass silver ornaments and bronze coloured acorns. Eggsy had managed to slip a Santa hat onto one of the mannequins in the window and if anyone noticed, no one said a word.

Eggsy even hung mistletoe in the doorway to dressing room number two and managed to ambush Harry before he had ducked under it, his hands planted on Harry’s chest, a cheeky _give us a kiss_ and though that earned him a rather put-upon glare Eggsy had found out early on that Harry had a very hard time saying no to him.

There was an undeniable magic, a descent into a joyous calm and a desire to just _enjoy_ the last few days of the year, even if it had been one of the most trying he had remembered. Despite all of it, the good would always outweigh the bad, or so he wanted to believe. 

It was all very cliche, succumbing to the allure of lights enough so as to take their time walking amongst the shops and the way the whirl of snowflakes that seemed to suspend themselves in the air, but Eggsy couldn't help but feel so incredibly at ease watching the season unfold around him, getting swept up in the celebrations without much hesitation. Promise of good things, even more good things, a reminder that they had made it and Eggsy was ending the year with the most wicked job a bloke could ask for, great friends and family, and someone to come home to at night. 

And he was going to be able to spend it _with_ Harry. 

Or was, anyway. 

It kind of ruined all the appealing enchantment of the season, made it all seem hollow and annoying in hindsight. 

Eggsy's just about ready to give up on holidays and normalcy all together, call it quits, and resign himself to living with his devastatingly handsome and kind of aggravating boyfriend in their posh house, never able to enjoy a proper holiday because, for all the bonuses that came with being a covert spy, sometimes it downright fucking _blows._

\--

Harry leaves four days before Christmas and should be back by New Year's Eve. Eggsy has to go back home, alone, as he's often done before--and Harry has certainly done as many times when he is given a last minute case--but this time feels far more bitter, Eggsy particularly resentful of its context, his echoing steps in the house far more resonating. 

The wreath on the front door seems to mock him with its gaiety and fluffy greenery, the twinkling lights strung across the balconies of their neighbours adding in their say, reflecting off the snow piled up by his feet where he had shovelled the step that morning. He watches the lights blink and shimmer as his frown grows more and more pronounced, until he's sure it's permanently etched into his face, before stepping inside. 

Eggsy shrugs out of his jacket and kicks off his shoes, knowing Harry would disapprove of him cluttering the entry way, could even hear his long-suffering sigh, but even the reminder of his ire was not enough to deter Eggsy from heading straight to the dining room and the liquor stash, JB barking and tumbling around his feet as he went. 

Drink in hand, he trudges to the living room ready to drown out his pathetic misery, only to be accosted with their brand new Christmas tree, decorated to almost bursting with baubles and bulbs, ribbons and garlands, forgetting for a moment that it was there at all. 

Both he and Harry had no clue as to what to put on a tree, though convinced that they needed one. Their kindly neighbour, Carolyn, had pretty much forced herself upon the task; Eggsy had been too baffled by her insistence to say no and Harry, who had known Carolyn for longer than Eggsy had been alive (and wasn't _that_ a thing to think about) was never one to turn her away when she set her mind to something. 

It was a truly beautiful tree, and for all it's overcrowded decorations, it was far from overbearing or gaudy, tended to by the touch of someone who had spent years honing their craft and it showed. It was a sight to behold and looked positively cheerful and all within the holiday spirit, soft lights hidden amongst the needles to cast the room in a welcoming glow. 

He had spent hours looking at it in the past few weeks, he and Harry usually set up on the sofa with their tablets or books or mission debriefs in their laps, Harry dressed down in slacks and a soft cardigan, glasses perched on his nose and Eggsy across from him, wrapped in a blanket because he was always cold and Harry refused to admit the house had a noticeable draft. How many evenings they watched a movie in that very room, Eggsy nestled between Harry's legs, turned sideways so his ear was rested against Harry’s chest, only barely paying attention to the telly while being lulled into a daze by the comfort of Harry's steady breathing and nimble hands in his hair, absently stroking across the back of his neck.

They could have been doing all of that. On Christmas. 

Eggsy hated the tree with all his being in that moment. He's not proud that he even considers kicking it over. Carolyn would be devastated. 

Really, it's the only thing that stops him. 

He takes a generous mouthful of his drink before deciding that he would just stay at his mums until Harry returned home. He couldn't stand to be in this house, with the promises of something so good that he had anticipated with unbridled excitement for far too long, and have to contend with the emptiness that came instead of Harry's footsteps in the door. 

\--

Eggsy doesn't have time to wallow. Not that he would, anyway. He _doesn't_ wallow or fling himself dramatically on anymore couches. How unmannerly. 

The first night had been the worst, reliving the bitterness of watching Harry board the jet in the hangar and left alone to enjoy Christmas without the person he wanted to spend it with the most. He slouches on the couch as Daisy babbles at him excitedly and Michelle watches him with a warm concern from over her mug of tea. 

The next morning, Michelle sets him to work.

“You haven't put a tree up yet?” Eggsy asks, almost indignantly, as he wrestles Daisy into her snow boots. 

Michelle shrugs. “I wanted a real one. Thought I'd wait so it didn't make such mess of the carpets.”

That's how Eggsy ends up at a tree lot two blocks from his mum’s new flat, staring at tightly bundled firs and pines. Michelle is taking her time considering each one, picking at the protruding needles, humming under her breath. 

Eggsy doesn't remember ever having a real tree. It was always a small artificial one tucked into the corner of the flat, when they still did Christmas all out. Eggsy had tried pulling out the tree by himself the year after his dad died, had managed to decorate the bottom half of the tree before his mum told him to take it down, _bleeding Christ, for the love of Christ, take that horrid thing down_ , nearly shrieking. He hadn't really understood then but he did as he was told, tears stinging the corners of his eyes, the sadness caught in the back of his throat. He had been so small and he didn't _understand_ why he couldn't. Sometimes, the memory rose up from somewhere forgotten and wrung up beneath his ribs, prickling and suffocating him.

They hadn't put the tree up again after that. 

And maybe he could have it in him to look back on that with resentment but he had decided a long time ago that he wasn't going to hold this over her. She still loved him and did her best. He tells her that constantly, just so she won't forget.

And maybe he could be angry about it but he's standing here, surrounded by the smell of rich wood and the clean crisp scent of freshly fallen snow, Daisy’s tiny hand gripped over his fingers and the look of awe and joy in her round face, nose and cheeks pink from the cold, eyes glinting back with the lights strung above them. And Eggsy just doesn't have room in him to be upset about what happened in the past. 

\--

The rest of his days are kept just as busy, for which he's thankful. 

He takes Daisy skating one morning at an open rink. They kept to the outside, gliding at an easy pace, her shrill giggles carrying across the park as Eggsy held onto her hands and she wobbled precariously across the ice. It had been hard to convince her to leave but he bribed her with hot chocolate and fries at the corner shop, promises not to tell Mum about their secret and Daisy nodding like she understood perfectly well, where she promptly fell asleep sitting in Eggsy’s lap in the middle of their lunch, one fry clenched tightly in her fist. 

He manages to meet up with Ryan and Jamal one evening. They don't sit in The Black Prince and there is an ache of nostalgia, or longing, for what it was before, but the new pub they've settled into has a homey feeling that even The Black Prince didn't have, warm wood and soft lighting and Christmas music trilling over the speaker. He has forgotten how much he missed this: wiling away the late night hours with cheap beer, his best mates reliving tales of their youthful glory, though their evenings involve a lot less criminal activity. Eggsy’s cheeks sting from laughing, having to slap a hand over his mouth when it gets away on him and he can't stop. He drinks far too much, he feels giddy and loose and so much like himself, his old self that had no obligations but to his own inclinations, he almost hesitates actually going home. They part with a swift embrace and promises to meet up again, soon. Eggsy intends to keep it.

He makes a visit to Roxy at her townhouse to drop off baking (made by mum in a frenzied whirlwind overcome by a sudden need to do everything humanly possible, taste-tested by him, sugar cookies decorated with help by Daisy), where he's unceremoniously ushered in to meet her family, her parents and twin brothers and grandmother all turning to greet him with warm smiles. He has to awkwardly deflect inquiries if he and Roxy are _very close_ , blurting out he's dating their boss (earning him a pointed look and groan from Roxy as it sets her grandmother and mother into a new barrage of questions) and has to make even more excuses as to why his boyfriend is working away for the holidays, _surely he could stop work for the holidays_. Instead of bitterly agreeing, Eggsy tries to shrug nonchalantly and takes a long drink of his wine. He doesn't miss the sympathetic glance Roxy gives him from across the room. 

But he eventually relaxes, finds Roxy’s brothers to be pleasantly insolent, manages to avoid to Roxy’s grandmother for most of the night and even gets in a game of whist with Roxy and her dad. With some help from Roxy, he extricates himself from the group and slips out with his own goodies a few hours later, a basket of imported fine cheeses and a _homemade_ tapenade--Roxy makes sure to tell him this--and what he assumes are rich people crackers and a bottle of wine he's sure cost as much as his Oxfords. Roxy sees him to the door, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater. 

“Sorry about all that,” Roxy says, nodding back towards the house. “Can't take them out anywhere.”

Eggsy laughs. “It's alright. Wasn't all bad, though. Well, once your nan stopped asking if I noticed the difference between young blokes and older gents in bed. She's a bit randy, yeah?”

“Oh, Christ,” Roxy mutters, dropping her head into her hands. “She can be really uncouth. Mom says she's too old but she knows what she's doing.”

“It made the evening interesting,” Eggsy says with a grin. 

Roxy makes a dismissive sound from between her fingers before lifting her head, eyes shining in the street light. “Seems your holidays are going well so far. Considering.”

He doesn't exactly blame her for the sudden sourness in his mood but he had gone all afternoon without thinking about not having Harry around and the cheer of the evening seemed to lessen, lacked in hindsight, without having Harry there to enjoy it. 

“Yeah, it's fine,” Eggsy says, toeing at the step. “Been keeping busy.”

Roxy’s hand comes to rest on his elbow, squeezing lightly. 

“I'm sorry you didn't get your perfect Christmas, Eggsy.”

Eggsy smiles but he doesn't think it's very convincing. “Thanks, Rox. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas, Eggsy.”

He even takes JB for a few walks, in between building block towers with Daisy and helping his mum in the kitchen (when she doesn't boot him out when he gets in the way or just ends up vainly attempt to sneak mouthfuls of whatever she has simmering on the stove), and ends up back at the mews one evening, staring down at his and Harry’s house, all the lights dark and the wreath almost disappearing into the black door. 

He stands there in the cold for far too long, contemplating all the things he had been so looking forward to, dispirited and utterly miserable in such a disgustingly cheery place. His misery is illuminated by the lights and it all seems very unnecessarily melodramatic. Like one of those sappy movies Harry loves so much. 

It's not until JB yips, starting to shiver on his leash, that Eggsy finally pulls himself from his pitiful reverie and heads home. 

\--

It's Christmas Eve when he finally hears from Harry, his glasses pinging with an incoming call from their place on his bedside table. He had been sitting on the floor, finally finishing wrapping the last of his presents as Michelle had all but shoved the wrapping paper and tape in his hands, obligating him to wrap the multitude of gifts for Daisy (he had wanted to tell his mum she had gone a bit overboard before realizing half the gifts were from him as well--at least she'd never go without).

Eggsy snatched the glasses off the table, one hand still pinched around the paper, holding it on top of the box. He slips them on, touching the sides to connect with the comms, managing to tear off a piece of tape and secure the paper. 

He sees a nondescript room, plain furniture and nothing on the walls. A safe house. When Harry greets him, Eggsy’s heart trips in his chest.

“Hello, darling,” Harry’s voice drifts into his ear, sounding inexplicably tired but with a warmth that Eggsy wants to sink into.

“Hey, you. How's it going over there?”

There's a dismissive sound, something between annoyance and indifference, and Eggsy smiles: Harry's done this so many times before that he can afford to be flippant about any manner of missions. “As can be expected from a group of half-rate vigilantes. It’s as if they don't even try anymore. What an aggravating waste of time.”

He proceeds to fill Eggsy in on his last few days, expounding on his absolute detestment of muggy tropical weather (and Eggsy snorts at how predictably and wonderfully British that sounds), that he tore a seam in his trousers and had to patch them after trudging through an actual swamp, and the fact that for a bunch of villains bent on dismantling the local establishment, they were dreadfully boring in their pursuits. 

Eggsy's careful to keep the present tucked out of eyesight, making him having to bend his arms at awkward angles, but he wouldn't want to risk Harry catching even a glimpse. Harry never moves from his spot, the same view of bare walls and an oak dresser, leading Eggsy to believe he's laying in bed and that sends a twinge of sad longing through him. 

Eggsy's only half paying attention, making sure the paper is creased just so, when Harry's voice piques with interest, “What are you doing?”

Eggsy hums, finishing with an unnecessary flourish and flick of his wrist as he tied the bow (the way his mum had showed him). “Secret.”

“Not even a hint?”

“Nope. Gotta wait until you get back to find out.”

He almost says _you could have opened it tomorrow_ but he thinks it's better on it. 

“Hmm.” There's a pause as Eggsy pushes himself from the floor, kicking lamely at the pile of trimmings and half-used paper rolls, deciding to clean it up in the morning as the bed seems a far better idea. “I will--uh, I will be going dark for the next few days.”

He pauses in pulling back the covers: Eggsy did not like this part. A swell of vaulting panic that weaves through him, tendrils of fear skittering across his nerves, prickling the hair at the back of his neck. His hands tighten on instinct, like this is something he can fight. 

When he had first started at Kingsman, he believed the glasses to be on full time. But sometimes the signal couldn't reach or it was better to leave the glasses off, for the safety of the agent, still recording but not streaming to home terminal. He has gone dark a few times himself and it always made him feel detached, slightly helpless in the void of knowing someone was out there but unable to hear him. 

It was worse when Harry did it. Eggsy thinks he's spent enough time not knowing if Harry was okay. 

“Okay,” Eggsy says. He's nodding and he feels ridiculous that he can't just _get over it_ but this disappointment has burrowed itself into everything and he can't even look at his own damn bed without thinking how Harry should be here, too. 

It all feels far too familiar, like an old wound reopened, and he _hates_ this. That even after all this time, he still believes there's a chance none of it was real. Or that Harry might not come back. Hates that after all this time, these thoughts won't leave him. 

Harry's voice seems so much louder now. Or the house just that more quiet. “Just a few more days and I will be home.”

“I know.”

Eggsy settles into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin, the absence of Harry all that more apparent, his steady and reassuring words making it all that more sharp in contrast to the emptiness of the bed beside him.

“I miss you, terribly.” Harry sounds so kind and lovely and terribly far away. Eggsy's gripped with a burst of frustration, annoyance at how he just wants Harry home, more than anything else. 

“I miss you, too.”

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

Eggsy’s breath comes out in a shuddering exhale, fisting his hands into the sheets. Tomorrow was Christmas. He could hardly believe it came so quick. He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see Harry sit up, the view of the room shifting as his hand reaches to turn off the glasses.

“Happy Christmas, Harry.”

\--

He's woken up by an aggressively excited and shrieking toddler leaping onto his chest and an equally bewildered pug barking at the foot of his bed. He's drug downstairs by the hand, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Daisy already trained on the tree and all the bounty it promised. 

She completely misses the half eaten cookies and empty glass of milk on the coffee table and heads straight for the tree, tugging the biggest box out from the back.

Eggsy sighs, chuckles, leaning against the doorway, watching her struggle for a minute with the overbearing box. “Dais, luv, that one ain't yours--oh, here.”

The morning is a blur of torn paper and warm tea and JB’s new toy’s incessant squeaking all through the house. He sits with his legs tucked up underneath in the corner of the couch, blanket draped over his shoulders, watching pensively as Daisy made her way through the presents. 

His mum presses a kiss to the top of his head, letting her hand linger across the side of his face.

“Happy Christmas, baby. Try to smile. It's not all so bad.”

He knew it wasn't but he can't help but think how he had wanted to share this moment with his mum and sister as much as he wanted to share it with Harry. He thinks about the wrapped gift tucked under his bed. He hadn't the heart to set it out under tree, to see it sit there, untouched, as his mum cleaned up the debris of Christmas morning. 

“It's good,” Eggsy answers, smiling up at her. “‘m good.”

“Only a few days, right? It'll be nice. Won’t have us in your hair,” Michelle jokes, nudging Eggsy gently, poking him under the arm. 

To have her acknowledge it, his obvious unhappiness at having Harry gone, meant more to him than much anything else. 

Telling his mum about Harry--all of it, not just about them being together but where he had disappeared to all those months and why Harry was back in their lives at all--was terrifying. Her reaction had been as much as he had expected: shock, outrage, complete and utter confusion and disbelief. She had screamed at him. At Harry, who was standing at the back of the room, hands folded behind his back as Eggsy begged his mum to _just listen_.

Harry had not liked it, telling Michelle anything at all about Kingsman. Eggsy wanted to be honest, thought that if he was going to be putting himself in the line of danger on the regular, she deserved the truth, some version of it. It had been awful, all of it, a sick lump sitting in his stomach as his words became vicious and cruel, trying to cut down Harry again because he couldn't be made choose. Harry couldn't ask _this_ of him: he would go wherever he was sent, he would do what was asked of him, he would do this because he was fiercely loyal when it was asked of him and he was _meant_ for this job, can't imagine himself doing anything else. But if it was to be that way, his mum had to know. He wouldn't do that to her, couldn't leave her every time, not knowing if it that would be it and she would be left alone for the last time with no answers at all. 

In a roundabout way, she knew what they did and in a vague way, she understood what it meant. What happened to Lee. Why Harry was looking at her like _that_ , that same reserved sympathy making his features downturned.

Asking why Harry was standing in her house, standing here with her son when she had said she didn't want nothing at all from him, while Eggsy's sudden doubt gripped him and he had to say it to explain, _it's more than that, Mum, it's more than what you think._

He doesn't say sorry, though she had a pained look on her face like she was waiting for it. He will never apologize for loving Harry and for being loved back. Even though she demanded it, for some time. In her own silent way. She just needed time and he had given it to her, was willing to wait however long she needed. 

Eggsy had thought she'd never come around. The look on her face was so close to betrayal that Eggsy felt the sting of it jolt through him. 

She almost didn't. But Michelle had a rather miraculous heart, one not meant for malice or spite, and she had extended her hand first, welcoming Harry in when she came to realize that what he meant to her now, by virtue of how he had come back into Eggsy's life, was worlds away from who he had been seventeen years before. And that it was okay. 

Michelle could forgive, even the worst kind of hurts. It's something Eggsy was proud to get from her. 

They eat a breakfast of waffles and sausage on the living room floor, cross-legged and still in their pajamas. Eggsy spends the rest of the morning helping Daisy with her new set of legos, building tower after tower only to have JB come barreling from the corner of the room to knock them down, while his mum finishes off the last of her to-do list. 

When the intercom buzzes some time in the early afternoon, announcing the arrival of their first guests, Michelle glances nervously at Eggsy, a timid smile tugging at her lips, a small comfort and reassurance, before she smoothed down her dress and buzzes them in. 

They hadn't spent much time with his mum’s side of the family since Dean had made an appearance in their life. Eggsy had been as astonished as his mum when his aunt and her family (including her daughter Janie, her husband and their newborn baby girl), his nan and granddad and his uncle all agreed to come for Christmas Day dinner. To say his mum had been on edge was a vast understatement and Eggsy tried not to let his own apprehension seep through, kept out of her way while she dithered anxiously about, wiping at non-existent smudges on the table and rearranging potted plants and trying somewhat uselessly to remember if her mom still drank Earl Grey. 

Eggsy stood back as his mum rushed to the door at their knocking, where he held Daisy in his arms, hoping he looked more composed than he truly felt. After all these years, it was like meeting for the first time and he wanted them to know, just by looking, that they were okay. That they had overcome something horrendous, that they had weathered it, that they came out the other side stronger, happier. 

As a swell of delighted greetings filled the entryway, Eggsy wished desperately for Harry to be there. 

When his grandad and nan step in the door pulling off their caps and scarves, looking much the same as the last time they had said goodbye, now so long ago Eggsy can barely recall, he is momentarily overwhelmed with the thought that he can have this, this normal kind of life. Sure, it wasn't what most people described as normal, not even by a long shot and it would always be overshadowed by this dark knowledge of the atrocities he had bore witness to and a laden responsibility to keep it at bay. 

But he could go home at the end of the day to someone who loved him. He had friends who called him on weekends to come out for drinks, just because they missed seeing him around. He had a family who drove through London on Christmas Day to have dinner with them without hesitation, even after years of silence. 

He had _this_ , all of this and more, and he could not believe how lucky he was for it. 

Nan catches sight of him, the wrinkles around her eyes going soft as she clasps her hands together. Grandad shrugs out of his jacket, turning to look at Eggsy and Daisy with a thoughtful, far-off gaze. 

“Oh, Gary,” she says faintly. “Just look at you… my handsome boy.”

Eggsy can't help the grin that spreads across his face, the the way his voice breaks as he says, “Take after Grandad, yeah?”

Nan nods, her hands pressed to her lips, her eyes bright when the light catches them. 

\--

And it all falls into the place, the complaisant nature of people who know each other well, like no time had passed at all. 

Janie, her husband Mark and baby Bridget arrived next and Eggsy rushes forward to take their bags, Janie seemingly taken back by his altruicity; they are followed closely by Aunt Cathy and her other daughter, Ann, bearing bottles of pinot grigio and malbec and bright smiles and happy regards. Just as they were settling in, Uncle John was standing in the hall, shaking off the snow and cold and pulling Michelle into a crushing hug that seems to last. 

Eggsy stands in content silence as the commotion of a full house unfolds around him. He was used to all kinds of people crowding in on him, his space and his house, his entire childhood defined by it. But they had always been overbearing and nasty and crude, making their loathing of him known. He had fought back with as much anger just to make a place for himself, to let them know he wasn't intimidated. 

This was remarkably different. The noise was cheerful, filling up the corners with its warmth instead of its sheer presence and Eggsy found himself settling into it without really thinking about it, without really trying. 

Michelle moved with joyous ease amongst her family, moving between the sitting room and the kitchen, a look of such loving contentment written across the deep lines of her face that it made her look an entirely new woman. More gracious, younger. It looks good on her, Eggsy thinks.

Grandad was down on the floor, watching Daisy with honest intent as she meticulously placed her blocks one atop the other that he didn't even notice when Uncle John kicked at his shin, having to repeat his question about verifying some far off childhood memory for the third time. 

The conversations intermingle and tumble over the other, questions shouted across the room and answers given back, as they quickly cover the years spent apart. No one brings up the reason for it and no one speaks of the shadow that seems to linger when talk edges too closely to the personal. There is time for that yet, for explanations and apologies. 

There is talk of moving homes and new jobs and vacations. Everyone is properly impressed by Eggsy’s job as a tailor-- _Savile Row, Eggsy! What a thing, that is!_ \--and congratulations to Michelle for taking night classes, finding her footing again; she had just been accepted for the winter semester and she glowed with the promise of it. Ann talks about her recent semester abroad in Italy, where she is studying art history, about the museums and thick salt air and towns perched above cliffs hanging over the sea. Mark is a technical engineer in Brighton, Janie does copyright editing from home, and they talk about how bloody fucking tired they are, how the laundry never ends and everyone laughs. Nan does pottery now that she's retired, looks after Bridget when Janie needs the day off and Grandad can't ever stop working, it seems, and he resorts that learning is a lifelong endeavour, so he drives into the city three times a week to teach at the college in Manchester. Uncle John is in London, working PR at a law firm in the heart of the city--he asks Eggsy to set up an appointment at Kingsman, winking and saying he's been on the lookout for a good tailor, and Eggsy flips the business card with his uncle’s name printed on it over and over in his fingers. 

Eggsy's only half paying attention when everyone moves on to how Ann has yet to settle down with a good lad, a nice man.

“Oh, don't you lot going piling up on me!” Ann cries out, her voice catching with a laugh, her cheeks tinged pink, and she turns to Eggsy with a devious grin. “What about Eggsy?”

It takes him a moment of all eyes turned on him before he realizes he's meant to answer. “I'm--I've got someone, yeah.”

There is expectant looks that he's not sure how to address. He glances over at his Uncle John in his prim sweater and dark slacks and an intrusive thought of just how close he is in age to Harry and-- _shit_ , where did he even _try_ to start. 

“Eggsy's going with his boss.” Michelle has emerged from the kitchen. She's got something on her chin, a smear of cranberry sauce, and she’s holding a pot in her hands. 

There's a resounding quiet. The kettle whistles from the kitchen and Eggsy feels the sound reverberate through him. He feels incredibly small, or like he's crowding out the room. 

Aunt Cathy eyes widen while Ann’s beams big enough to dimple her cheeks. From her new place on the floor, Bridget dozing in her lap and Daisy piling JB’s toy on the baby, Nan gives Eggsy a considering look. 

“A right gentleman,” Michelle continues, a bit forcefully, moving her gaze carefully about the room before settling on Eggsy. “A nice fellow, yeah, Eggsy? Name’s Harry.”

And Eggsy stares down into his half-empty drink glass, feels the tingle of heat up his neck and across cheeks. 

It's not that Eggsy is embarrassed, it couldn't be further from the truth because he cannot imagine a day where he won't look at Harry and not feel that rush of adoration to nearly knock him off his feet. And if Harry were here, Eggsy knows he would be sitting proud beside him, even if Harry always said it's rude to flaunt. 

But it was always Harry's warm hand on the small of his back, steadying him; Harry's sideways glance, raised brow, giving him reassurance. Reminding him of his worth, always reminding him that he need not change himself or apologize for who he is. 

Eggsy doesn't know if he could ever explain that to anyone, just how much it means to have someone like that. He couldn't ever put it into words. It's something to be seen, he thinks, the way Harry loves him so wholly. 

“And where is Harry?” Nan asks. 

“Got called in last minute,” Eggsy says into his lap, voice tight in his chest. “High paying clients and all that. Gotta keep ‘em happy.”

Aunt Cathy sighs. “Oh, a shame! It would be so nice to have the whole family here.”

A massive burden, like a suffocating weight he didn't know he was carrying until that moment, lifts and Eggsy looks up at his aunt. _The whole family._

Michelle nods, looking pleased with herself, before disappearing back into the kitchen, the sound of the bowl banging on the counter as she continues to stir. 

“Well, I do hope to meet him soon,” Nan announces. “Maybe in the new year? We can have Sunday supper out at the cottage next month.”

And with that, the conversation moves swiftly onto an invigorating account from Grandad about his long-suffering contention with end of term and failing eyesight and how the print seems to get smaller every year, though he scoffs when Nan tells him to just get the damn bifocals. 

\--

Michelle made far too much food and she fusses over the place settings, shifting the serving trays and bowls around, a hand fluttering across her cheek as she glances about the table like she's missing something.

“It all looks marvellous, darling,” Nan says. “Just lovely.”

Nan has her slender fingers wrapped around Michelle’s wrist. Michelle looks at her, a watery smile on her face, as Nan pats the top of her hand and she lets out a heavy, relieved sigh.

“Thanks, Mum,” Michelle says.

They all sit down, Ann taking it upon herself to pass the food about, Grandad scooping up potatoes onto Daisy’s plate and tearing apart her turkey so she can grab it with her fingers, even as a Eggsy tells her to use her fork. Uncle John gets in a heated argument with Mark about Manchester United while passing the stuffing and Nan has to tell them _boys, not at the table_. Aunt Cathy holds Bridget in one arm while she picks at her half-filled plate with her free hand. 

Someone's left the music on in the living room and it weaves its way amongst the din of noise, the clatter of forks and spoons, of Daisy squealing with delight as Grandad throws a brussel into his mouth and Nan says again _not at the table._

Eggsy pulls out his phone and snaps a photo. The spread of food, Uncle John leaning across for the gravy. Michelle with her eyes closed, a hand on Aunt Cathy’s shoulder as she throws her head back and laughs. Ann’s face a blur as she turns to look at Mark, something he's said. 

He knows Harry probably won't see it until he's boarding the Kingsman plane a few days from now. But at least it's something else to look at other than mission debriefs, the wood paneling, the bottom of an empty glass.

_wish u were here xxxx_

\--

“I said no gifts-- _Cathy_!”

And it's not much, Cathy protests as she stomps her boots in the foyer, motioning for Grandad to come grab her bags of gifts. 

Most are for Daisy, of course. They didn't know what she needed so they brought a big of everything. Clothes for the summer, the full collection of Dr Seuss book, a rather complicated bead maze half Daisy’s height that she takes to instantly. 

Michelle unwraps a gift while Nan watches with her hands over mouth, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“You remember that?” Nan asks. She leans forward in her chair. Eggsy leans forward, too, craning his neck to see. “It was yours.”

“I remember,” Michelle says. She's holding a box stuffed with tissue, peeling it back to reveal a porcelain doll in a pink gingham dress, white patent shoes with small silver buckles, a head of blonde curls perfectly kept and rosy cheeks. “Of course.”

“I thought Daisy would like it,” Nan continues. “When she's old enough. You so loved that thing. Played with it almost every day, you did.”

Aunt Cathy brings out photo albums from her own bag, handing them over to Michelle with a reassuring grin. She sits beside Michelle and points out their childhood memories, talks at length of all the things they had done and shared. She takes a smaller book out of from the bottom, turns a few pages in. Eggsy is standing behind them, arms folded across his mums shoulders, peering down. He almost takes a step back when Aunt Cathy lays the page flat. 

Dean had destroyed most of the pictures of his dad. They hadn't had many. Eggsy had managed to hold onto his dad’s marine coronation picture just by sheer will alone. It was hard to recall his face sometimes and when he could, it was always the same stern, hard look that peered out at him from his bookshelf. It was disconcerting to see him trussed up in a suit, ill-fitted but handsome, smiling down at Michelle, in a soft white dress and her bouquet of flowers hanging at her side, like she had hung the moon for him. 

He hadn't remembered what his dad looked like, smiling. 

“Both of you looked so beautiful,” Aunt Cathy says wistfully, running her finger along the edge of the pictures. 

Eggsy spends the rest of the evening flipping through the photo albums, Daisy snuggled up against his side, blanket tucked up under her chin and eyes glossing over. 

“Yeah, momma. And that's my dad,” Eggsy had whispered to her when Daisy had put a hand over a picture of his mum and dad standing outside a house he didn't recognize, their hands clasped tightly together, Michelle's round belly casting a shadow on her bare feet, Daisy looking up at Eggsy and asking, _momma?_

The music continued to play, the excited chatter of the afternoon dwindling to a gentle murmur. As the night waned, street lamps came on and filtering soft yellow light through the frosted windows, Grandad asked Michelle to dance. They pushed the coffee table and chairs out of the way, catching on the rug, making JB nip at their feet. 

Grandad whisks her about the room, gently swaying to Frank Sinatra crooning about coming home, as Eggsy sits on the couch, Daisy settled into his lap, watching them dance.

\--

Eggsy didn't know how eerily quiet a house could be. He used to like it, when everyone had gone from the old flat and he was left to the quiet. Liked the feeling of the world narrowing down to just his room, not having to worry about anyone barging in on him or making him run down to the shops for whatever they were too lazy to get themselves. 

Now, it seemed larger than the room, than the whole house. There were empty drink glasses on the end tables. The chairs were still pushed to the edge of the room. Someone had forgotten a piece of discarded wrapping paper on the floor. The photo album, opened to the page with Lee and Michelle standing in front of the house, happy and waiting for the next journey they were about to take, still on the couch.

They had all left at once, parting with hugs and promises to call and heartfelt gratitudes. Eggsy had not wanted them to leave. 

Michelle went off to bed with a kiss to his cheek, Daisy resting against her hip. JB had trailed after them, ready to take up his spot at the end of Daisy's bed, as he always did when they were over. Eggsy could never coax him out from the warmth of her small bed.

So, Eggsy sat by himself in the living room, with a glass of scotch, and for the first time in a few hours, he thought about Harry. 

Next year, he thinks, as he takes a drink. There is always next year. 

He has his hand open on the photo album, his eyes feeling heavy and maybe having nodded off a bit, when the intercom buzzes and he's startled awake. He rubs at his eyes. The intercom goes off again and he shuffles to the speaker, jabbing blearily at the button. 

“Yeah? Whatsit?”

“Visitor for you, Mr Unwin.”

Eggsy blinks at the speaker, perplexed, eyebrows furrowing. “Right now? Who is it?”

There's a pause and then, “They want you to come down.”

For a moment, his heart leaps into his throat and his body goes cold. Anyone who comes to the flat tells their name. It's why Eggsy made sure his mum got a place with round the clock security. Papers and court orders was all well and good in the eyes of law but Dean Baker wasn't the kind of man to follow the law too closely if it inconvenienced him. And Eggsy suddenly coming into a lot of money and his mum deciding she’d had enough was a major inconvenience to him. 

It's the only person he can think of coming this late at night. Probably drunk out of his mind, demanding more than his share from the divorce proceedings, screaming _that bitch owes me!_ like he did the day Eggsy had walked Michelle out of the courtroom. Eggsy knew that it hadn't been the last of him. Dean survived this long by the brute force of his nature, of making his presence the only acceptable one in the room. 

Eggsy remembers to grab the gun he had hidden above the fridge, tucking it into the back of his trousers and flipping his shirt over to conceal it, before he steps out into the hall, a brief pause to consider the best route before deciding on the stairs over the elevator. 

It's when he's on the last level taking two steps at a time that he remembers Dean moved out to Bristol two months ago.

It's when he gets to the door to the lobby that he realizes it could only be one other person, that not even Roxy or his best mates knew where his mum lived. They had never been over. Only one person who had been: who had come for Sunday dinners and dropped Daisy off from the nursery and had stopped by after work with groceries when Eggsy was gone and his mum needed milk, bread, eggs. 

Only one person who would make him walk down four flights of stairs because it was proper manners to greet your guests. Only one person who would stand in the lobby with his coat and scarf over his arm, twenty minutes before midnight on Christmas Day, wearing a pair of bloody reindeer antlers on his head. Only one person who would look at his watch and say with a sardonic grin, “Looks like I made it just in time.”

\--

The reindeer antlers are on the counter between them, placed between the bowls and Tupperware containers of leftovers Eggsy had set out. He's not particularly hungry but he still dishes himself out a plate along with Harry’s and they stand around the tiny island, tucking into their Christmas leftovers.

Eggsy nudges at the reindeer antlers with his fork. The smile on his face hasn't left since he grabbed Harry into an embrace in the lobby, burying his face against Harry’s chest, breathing him in to remind himself he's real, hands fisted into his shirt. 

“Would you believe that I stole these from Merlin?” Harry asks, spearing a carrot. 

Eggsy shakes his head, laughing. “Not a chance.”

Harry smiles for a moment before it falls away and he clears his throat, looking earnestly at Eggsy in the dim kitchen light. 

“I’m sorry I couldn't make it in time to meet your family.”

“It's alright.” Eggsy shrugs because it is. Despite Harry not being there, the day was the best Christmas he's had in so many years. “They're already planning weekly dinners.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” Harry says and he says it with such sincerity that Eggsy knows he's being genuine and he was right--there won't ever be a time that Eggsy will look at him and not fall completely and madly in love with him all over again, every single day. 

“What are you even doing here? You wasn't supposed to be back for a few more days.”

Harry’s mouth turns up at the corners, a fond look smoothing out the tired lines on his face. “You thought I wouldn't do everything in my power to be able to spend Christmas with you, darling?” Harry set his fork down, his expression knit with worry, his hand coming to rest over Eggsy’s. “Eggsy, are you alright?”

Eggsy wipes the back of his hand across his face, feeling completely ridiculous as the rise of actual tears comes on hot and insistent behind his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried, let alone over something good. Maybe a few too many scotch; it's usually gin that does that. 

“Yeah, yeah, it's nothing,” he says with a small laugh. He swallows down the small ache, the rush of a bittersweet happiness. “Maybe had a few too many, you know. Tired.”

“A soft bed does sound nice,” Harry muses. 

Eggsy cleans off the plates, rinsing them in the sink, while Harry waits by the door. When Eggsy comes to stand beside him, he leans up on his feet, arms wrapping loose around Harry's hips. Harry's hands come to rest against his face, cupping his chin, and Eggsy's stomach flips, the feel of Harry's hands on him blissfully wonderful, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, across the corner of his jaw. 

He has never felt this loved, this adored, this cherished. It winds its way around his heart, blooming like long lost warmth in his chest. 

Eggsy presses his lips to Harry's, a kiss gentle and soft and slow. Just to have him here, just to have Harry near him, against him. Sometimes, it's all he needs. 

“I'm glad you're home,” Eggsy murmurs when he pulls back and he feels Harry smile as the man presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“So am I.”

\--

They're in bed, late morning light streaming from between the half closed curtains. They had been slow to wake, tangled in sheets and each other, Eggsy running his fingers lazily along Harry's chest, down his arms, relishing the hums and small moans that rumbled through him. 

He can hear Daisy running down the hall, JB barking from the front door. He knows they should get out of bed. But not right now. 

Just a few more minutes for themselves. 

Harry has the small box in his lap, wrapping paper in a crumpled up ball in Eggsy's hands. He's turning it over and over. He didn't think he'd be this nervous, to give Harry his gift. Even Merlin had given him a look of admiration when he had given them back, once had he had worked his magic on them.

Harry's looking down in the box, studying the white gold cufflinks, a delicate swoop in the middle like someone had laid their finger across it. 

“They are stunning.”

Eggsy shifts closer to him, dropping the ball of paper. “Do you wanna know what they do?”

“What they do?” Harry asks, turning to look at him. 

Eggsy grins, snatching the box from Harry's hands. “Come off it, Harry. You'd think I'd just give you a pair of cufflinks.” He takes them from their velvet cushion and holds them out in his open hand. “Here--” he points at the small bar at the bottom that holds the pin in place, “--it has a sensor in it. Picks up your pulse. Mostly my idea but it's Merlin’s genius what makes it, though.”

Harry raises an eyebrow and Eggsy meets his questioning glance with his own. 

“So I always know you're okay,” Eggsy says. “Even when we can't talk. Got us a matching set, so you can know, too.”

A moment passes where Harry regards Eggsy with a steady gaze, something wrought with an unreadable revelation. Eggsy looks back, his hand still open, the cufflinks cool against his skin. 

“I worry,” Eggsy explains. “I know I don't need to… but I do. I guess, it's more for me than you.”

Harry hand comes to lay flat over top Eggsy's, his fingers curling to thread through his, the cufflinks trapped between them. Harry's got that look, the one where he's working out something--some thought or realized concept that has to work its way through him, make its space in his routine, his old familiar ways. Like it had all been tilted and shifted and jumbled out of order, had to be rearranged and he was working out how to get it all to fit back in. Making room for this new thing. 

It was the same look he had when he came back from Kentucky, weary but alive, staring out across the Kingsman estate. When Eggsy dared to kiss him first, his own heart thundering in his chest from the reckless bravery of it. When Harry had said _I love you_ first while Eggsy had been eating a mouthful of falafel, his cheeks full, and Harry had laughed. 

Harry leans forward, the other hand coming to cradle the bottom of their hands. He's pulling Eggsy closer, still leaning forward, and it's with such tender adoration that he kisses Eggsy's forehead. 

“My darling boy.”

Michelle is calling for him and Eggsy thinks, quietly, softly, just a few more minutes. Just for them.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Tumblr at [**notbrogues!**](http://notbrogues.tumblr.com)


End file.
